


Please

by ConnorFromCyberLife



Series: Detroit Oneshots [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Assault, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Is Connor dead? No-one knows, Mentioned Hank Anderson, Poor Connor (Detroit: Become Human), but he really doesn't get it, none of this is particularly graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorFromCyberLife/pseuds/ConnorFromCyberLife
Summary: Hank won't pick up the phone.





	Please

**Author's Note:**

> so, this was posted on my tumblr not too long ago. and i decided to stick it here as well.  
> it's pretty much just me abusing my poor robot son again. most of it is very feckin' vague so yee. i just wanted to write connor being scared and in pain.  
> one day he will get happiness, one day.

The floor was cold. Too cold. It wasn’t supposed to be cold. It was summer, _July,_  it was supposed to be hot, sunny, like the weather forecast had said. He wasn’t supposed to be cold. He shivered, curling in on himself, violent tremors wracking his body, shaking his frame. The cold ground was pressed against his cheek, sharp, jagged rocks digging into his flesh. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d cut him, if his blood was dripping down the side of his face, if the entire ground was stained thirium  _blue._  

A weak groan passed through his lips as a car rumbled by. He could feel the rocks bouncing from the vibrations, feel the vibrations passing through his chassis, into the delicate wiring beneath. The noise reverberated through his auditory processors, drilling into his head like a jackhammer. He wanted to reach up, cover his ears, stop the echoing noise, stop the echoing  _pain._  But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but just lie there, on the ground. Curled up into a ball.   
  
It was pathetic.  _He_  was pathetic.  _He_  was CyberLife’s most advanced prototype. And yet, he hadn’t even been able to defend himself. Hadn’t been able to fight back as they’d incapacitated him, tazer making contact with the side of his neck, burning hot  _agony_  crackling through his skin. Hadn’t been able to prevent them from hurting him, from carving into his synthetic skin, from  _violating_  him. From making him  _dirty._ From making him  _hurt._  He hadn’t been able to do anything. This-  _All_  of this, was his fault. If he’d just fought back, if he hadn’t been distracted-  
  
A sob wracked through his frame, eyes squeezed shut in attempt to block out everything. The noise. The pain. The memories. The feeling of phantom hands roaming his body, the feeling of  _fire_ coursing through his wiring. The feeling of helplessness, of his pleas for them to  _stop_  being ignored. Because he wasn’t  _human._  He wasn’t a _person._  He was a machine. A tool. A weapon. He wasn’t even supposed to  _feel_ in the first place. He didn’t want to feel. Not anymore. He’d give anything for this to go away.  
  
He could feel thirium dripping through his fingers, staining his hand, pressed up tightly against the jagged wound in his abdomen. Trying to prevent further blood loss, trying to prevent himself from  _shutting down_. He was dying. Connor knew he was dying. He could see the countdown timer on his HUD, always there in the corner of his vision. Despite how tight his eyes were squeezed shut, despite how much he tried to ignore it. It was there.  _Twenty minutes_. He had twenty minutes until death.   
  
A hot flare of agony coursed through him as another series of violent sobs shook his frame, throat closed up, struggling for air despite the fact he didn’t need to  _breathe._  He didn’t want to shutdown. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to go home. Curl up on the couch with Hank and Sumo. Wanted to _live._  He forced weak gasps of air into his body, forced himself to lie still, stop trembling. All these movements, all these tremors, were just causing the blood to flow from his wounds at a more alarming rate. All of these panic, all of this inability to breathe, were causing him to overheat. Were causing warnings to flash up before his eyes in bright red, a violent crimson that mirrored the shade of his LED, which refused to stop spinning at his temple, desperately trying to get in contact with someone,  _anyone._

Hank… He wasn’t answering. He wasn’t picking up.  
  
RA9, he was so  _cold._

“P-please-” His voice was laced with thick static, hoarse and raw from screaming, from a damaged vocal module. Why was no-one answering him? Why was no-one coming? Why was no-one paying attention? Surely, he couldn’t be difficult to notice? An android, broken and naked on the ground of an alleyway, stained with their own blood, unable to control their distressed whimpering, the sharp gasps of pain. Surely someone would hear him? Was he that insignificant? Did they not care?   
  
Of course they didn’t care. He was a machine. An object. He was just property damage. He was just something that could be tossed aside, replaced. _“P-please!”_ He just wanted someone to answer. Someone to talk to. Someone to  _help_  him. He didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. Not  _alone_.  
  
****He didn’t want to die.  
  
He listened. Listened to his own distressed cries. Listened to the cars rumbling by. Listened to the voicemail prompt, Hank’s voicemail prompt, for the  _twenty seventh_  time. Those same words. That same tone of voice.  _ **“I don’t give a fuck who you are, fuck off.”**_  
  
And he wondered to himself, did Hank know this was him? Was he aware of those twenty seven previous calls? Or was he just ignoring him? Like everyone else. Like the people who passed by the alleyway, who refused to look at him.   
  
_“Please pick up. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. Please pick up.”_  
  
And again, he was ignored.   
  
He didn’t have the strength to try again. Didn’t have the strength to stay conscious. Keep fighting. He gave in. Gave into the pain. Gave into the feeling of fatigue. Gave into the darkness that had been threatening to consume his mind. He just wanted it to stop. Just wanted _all_ of this to stop.   
  
His LED flickered off.

**Author's Note:**

> well, i hope y'all enjoyed this. if you liked, kudos and or comments would be very much appreciated! i thrive on praise. praise makes me happy and makes me want to write more. so if you want more, praise me. or don't. i'll probably write more at some-point anyway.


End file.
